


Not meant to be

by afabulousjello



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confessions, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Repressed Emotions, Stag Night, drunk flatmates being somewhat gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afabulousjello/pseuds/afabulousjello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alcohol loosens boundaries enough to admit well kept secrets in the middle of the night.<br/>Two emotionally very repressed and past-mourning flatmates try to open up themselves and each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not meant to be

Not meant to be

 

 

They found themselves back in the flat on Baker Street tangled in each other’s limbs, the intoxication painting hazy lines on the edge of their perception. John laughed and pushed himself off of Sherlock’s shoulder, on which he had been steadying himself on and tumbled over to his armchair. His armchair Sherlock noted. It would always be John’s even when its owner would not return to sit in it anymore.

„That was”- John said – „Something else. You should have come along with me and Lestrade when we went out for the pints. It would have been hilarious.”

„Not so much for the folk in the pub.”- Sherlock smiled.

„In time we would have visited all of London’s pubs, getting kicked out of everywhere.”

„Not so much chance for it now, is there?”

Sherlock strolled over and slouched in his own armchair eyes fixed on John. He observed, or tried through the filter of alcohol, for a last time to witness all of it. Them just being them, sitting in Baker Street, just talking, solving crimes, being friends. No troublesome obligations that a wife, a family bought. No John moving away because they needed more space for the kid. No John devoted to something else Sherlock couldn’t comprehend. No John that didn’t belong only to him.

John seemed to be caught up on a sentimental wave himself casting his eyes all over the flat. Looking at what used to be his home. His expression turned bitter when he thought about how it was sort of a last and turned at Sherlock.

„I don’t know if I should want this, Sherlock. I really don’t know. I feel like a schoolchild, I simply don’t want the morning to come. I don’t want to wake up and know I have to marry the afternoon. It is just terrifying.”

„I could tell you how common this swing of mood is among grooms. You naturally want to avoid stress and responsibility in a very much committed… relationship like a marriage that is meant to last until death, is understandably… pressuring.” – He replied slurring, but quickly – “But that is not what you want to hear.”

„Yes, definitely not that.”- John’s eyes darted down on the floor between them a faint smile lingering on his lips that disappeared as he began to speak. – „I think I want you to tell me, that it is the right thing to do. That I actually want to marry. That I am ready.”

„John, I seriously known you wrong if you want to tell me that your stubbornness is failing you now.” –Sherlock said his brows furrowed.

John shot up straight in his chair the insult stinging. „No, of course not! You know what, I want to marry Mary. I do. But I also love this.”- He gestured around the flat.

„What do you mean?” –he asked and regretted it immediately. He could guess what John meant by it and didn’t want to hear it. Saying it out loud made it real, made it inevitable. As long as it was only speculation in Sherlock’s head it was fine, because he could be wrong. He could live with John leaving and never knowing if the other would regret going. He couldn’t if he knew John would miss him, because that would mean that there would have been a chance.

“I don’t want to leave us behind. I mean,”-He rectified.-“who am I kidding? Even if I promise you it’ll be the same it won’t, because…You know especially since the…Fall, it just isn’t what is used to be.”

“John, I don’t understand-“

“I miss you every single day, even if I know that you are now back, and technically never have been dead.”

Sherlock was struck with the admission. He searched for his friend’s eyes, but he looked strictly away. He moved forward in his chair and wetted his lips bracing himself for what he was about to possibly do.

“John, I am unmeasurably sorry for the pain my…uhm…departure has caused you. I promise I will try every day to make it up to you.”

“It’s OK, Sherlock. Don’t mention it. It’s for the best if we just forget it.”-John said evasively. He stood up and headed for the kitchen. - “Do you want something? To drink, I mean?”

Sherlock didn’t answer; he just stood up and followed John lead by a boldness and determination he couldn’t explain.

“John, please listen to me.”

“I just don’t want to argue about it, especially not now, so please drop it.”

“But you are evidently still angry with me for it, when I tried to explain it to you that it was absolutely necessary-“

“Sherlock, please!”

“I jumped to save you and you don’t even consider-“

“Why?”-John spat angrily.

“Because I loved you!”-Sherlock shouted back equally angered. He only realised the gravity of his slip when he saw John’s eyes widen at the admission and the elder man took a swaying step back as if the floor was pulled out under him.

“Jesus Christ!”-He muttered baffled.

Sherlock was struck himself and he watched every single movement John made alertly estimating the damage. He didn’t dare to say anything and just stared back once John’s eyes locked with his. John seemed to have recovered from the small shock as he focused and calmed his breaths.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”-He inquired in a tense voice. Sherlock cringed inwardly when he heard.

“It never was the right time.”-He admitted quietly, searching for forgiveness in the features of his friend.

“And you think now it is?”

“I’m sorry John. I know I shouldn’t have.”-Sherlock lowered his head.

John strode over and gently slid his hand along the taller man’s jaw, settling it on his nape making Sherlock look at his face.

“There was a time I would have said yes without hesitation.”-John admitted, words heavy on his lips. Sherlock shivered and leaned forward connecting their foreheads. He wished it all to be true. He wished John really had uttered those words and it all wasn’t just another drunken fantasy he involved in. Then at the same time, he damned it all. He damned himself, should it all be true, for not noticing, for missing his probably only chance. He was angry at his own senses for betraying him in this way, depriving him of his only true craving.

“Did you ever really know what you meant to me?”-The shorter asked.

“I could ask you the same.”

“Jesus. We messed up great time.”-John muttered silently.-“I always had feelings for you.” John admitted sending spasms down Sherlock and making his heart flutter in a way it wasn’t supposed to do. He angled his head up and looked at Sherlock in a way that made the detective freeze all over in bewilderment. Not only did John have feelings for him, he also wanted him currently, here and now. Trepidation nestled in Sherlock’s chest. This wasn’t right. No matter his want John would regret making this choice later. He gently tried to push John off, albeit hesitantly and unwillingly.

“John we can’t do this.”-He said hastily.-“Think of tomorrow. Think of Mary.”

“There is no Mary.” –John whispered imploring it was true.

“Yes, there is.”- Sherlock said drunk on alcohol and drunk in John and much too sober for the moment. “And you love her.”

“But, I love… I was so blind and then you were gone and… What was I supposed to do?”- John struggled with words and instead looked, just looked at the detective hoping he might deduce his heart for him. Sherlock unfortunately could do no such think. John was a riddle, John was a miracle he had fallen for and though he knew John inside out, there was no way he could tell him what his heart didn’t even dare to whisper to his owner. So he said the logical thing:

“John, if you would have wanted to have me, you could have anytime. But you didn’t. You chose Mary and had good reasons to. You love her more than you have ever felt for me, so you asked her to spend the rest of her life with you and she gladly will.”

John didn’t say anything for a long time, just kept the contact and breathed.

“I didn’t know I could have had you.”- He said his voice failing him. –“I didn’t even know you did something as dull as relationships.”

“For you, I would have. With you nothing is dull ever.”

John made a noise that was half a sob, half a stifled moan. It stimulated a response in Sherlock’s body he wasn’t even aware existed. He burned and shivered at the same time, his emotions struggling and tearing him apart. He wanted to take John so badly and seeing him willing wasn’t doing any good to the situation. His intent seemed to be written all over his face, because John addressed them, equally in agony.

„Just one little slip. And then we could do as if it didn’t happen.”-John begged- „Just this one time.”

Sherlock tried to push him further away with weak hands.

„No, John, please. Listen to me. This is like and addiction, don’t you see? Allowing yourself to slip just once will leave you to wanting more. And then one more time and then one more time again and again. Every you can’t say ’no’ will leave you wanting more each time and then it can’t be managed anymore. Do you understand what I mean?” Sherlock was sure John heard he ex-addict of him speak, but he didn’t bother to worry.

He had tears in his eyes and tried desperately to blink the away before John could see them. It hurt. It hurt so much to say ’no’ to him. To say no and push him away, when every inch of his body wanted to do the opposite. He wanted to close the distance and push against John’s body. To burrow his face in the crook of his neck and breath in his scent. To let himself be absorbed in feeling and feeling alone. He wanted to feel John more than anytime ever before. And now, after all the denying and doubting, he knew that there might be a swallow chance that John might feel the same, he simply couldn’t.

„Please, Sherlock, please. For me.”-he murmured.

_Oh_. Those two words. They made his will falter almost completely every time.

„You know I would do anything for you.”-His voice was husky and his throat burned- „But please don’t ask me to leave you morally devastated and hating yourself on the night before your wedding. Because that’s what would happen if we…you know.”

He heard John breath in long and shakily strengthening himself. Even so his grip remained in Sherlock’s hair and their foreheads leaned against each other. Sherlock noticed his hands still being hooked in John’s clothes from trying to push him away. Reluctantly he let go letting the last memories of the touch linger in his fingertips. He felt John’s breaths against his skin, then the shorter man let go of his nape and withdrew himself from Sherlock. He puffed some deep breaths forcing himself under control in the typical way of his to repress stress.

„Thank you for telling me though. „– He said his voice tight with emotion he wasn’t likely to ever let out. Sherlock nodded, but felt incapable of producing any other reply. They just stood there for minutes looking at each other carefully avoiding the eyes.

After a while John spoke to fill the awkward space: „I think I should go then.”

„Yes, obviously.”- Sherlock said out of reflex. John forced his gaze on his face and their eyes locked.

It was like a blow in the guts. Sherlock felt all air and all feelings being pressed out of his body and a cold shiver set in. He hated himself. He almost regretted telling John he loved him, for how heartbroken his friend looked. Almost, for he couldn’t have stand if John went into this without ever knowing all of his options. And now he hated himself and felt utterly in agony for having hurt John again.

John picked up and put on his coat with a slight tremble of his hands. It wasn’t cold outside, it was a thin one. John moved to the door and Sherlock followed him. One hand on the doorknob he looked back at Sherlock, but not being able to find the right words for a goodbye, he opened it and stepped right out. _Don’t go; don’t leave; don’t leave me behind. Please don’t go. Please stay_. This was all that was floating around Sherlock’s mind, not so brilliant and focused right now. This was all he could think of. He could even have said it out loud for all he knew, because the next second John turned on the step and walked up to him and his body moved on its own.

He pulled John inside by the arm and pushed the door behind him closed. John’s arms flew up around his neck and Sherlock pulled him into a tight embrace. As a consequence, John was now forced to breath into his neck and Sherlock positively felt him nudge under his jaw. This simple movement sent an alarming amount of heat reverberating around his body he still didn’t fully regain control over.

But the next thing he did, he knew he couldn’t blame on the alcohol or the sentimentality. Sherlock had no idea where the sudden falter of will came from, possibly desperation, but he didn’t care. He leaned in pushing John just a bit off himself to plant a kiss on the other’s cheek knowing very well what would follow. Because John of course and expectedly moved in unison with him and turned his face a bit towards Sherlock’s.

The first brush of lips was barely anything. It was barely there. But Sherlock knew better than that; it was like a toxin he needed to intake. He inhaled the sense that was so much and uniquely John and then let his lips crush against the other’s a bit more steadily. The feeling was incredibly good. It felt so home and good and right. John didn’t kiss with the expertise Sherlock expected him to, but the mere amount of emotion he was able to channel was taking his breath.

John treaded his fingers in his hair creating a pleasant tingle there that already drove him crazy mere minutes ago. It earned him a muffled moan, which only encouraged John to continue more enthusiastically. The kiss grew more urgent, more demanding by the second and Sherlock felt the need to steady himself or they might fall over entirely. He pulled the both of them onto the couch behind them and fell on it awkwardly in an uncomfortable position. Tangled with John however he didn’t dare to move, much too afraid to break the spell.

He tentatively nibbled a bit harder on John’s bottom lip and he felt John melt under his touch and groan in agreement. He treaded his grip into a handful of ash blond hair when seconds later he felt a tongue dart over his lips probing for entrance he granted ever so pliantly. His unoccupied had travelled down John’s spine to the small of his back as John’s tongue explored his mouth gently caressing his. He replied the kiss putting all his mind into it. Their movements became more languid, more loving, more an assuring caress than a lust-laded attack. Sherlock conveyed John all his desperation, all of his devotion in a slide of lips as John understood it, with no need for words and replied with saying sorry a thousand times over by the touch of his skin.

It was positively the best feeling ever and he would have been an utter fool to miss out on this. Which brought him to the point to realise: he was actually kissing _John Watson_. Which was one of the things he wanted to do for years, but on the other hand it was John Watson whose best man he was on his wedding tomorrow. And no matter how good it felt and insanely hot it was he wished this would have not happened for John’s sake.

John felt absolutely amazing pressed flush against him, but it all would have gone too far if neither of them put a stop to it. He shifted and pushed the other away, regrettably for the maniest time that evening. John in return groaned in frustration.

He looked gut twistingly beautiful, lips red and swollen, face heated up and the short hair tussled. Sherlock wished he could have had the chance to delight in this beauty sooner. Maybe then they would even have stood a chance.

John still looked positively like he could have had taken him there and then, and Sherlock even considered the possibility himself for a second. It might have been good to pursue the desire and get the want out of their systems. He imagined John naked and willing under his touch, now even more vividly and at an arm’s length than before. He imagined his heaving quick breaths, panting and wanton, limbs askew and begging for Sherlock to touch him and how his name would stumble over his lips when he came. But some fantasies are better left to imagination and late nights spent lonely and alone.

He shook himself and grabbed John pulling him close, signalling that he didn’t want him gone, he just couldn’t do _that_. The blonde puffed content breaths against his skin. Sherlock didn’t want to think about anything. Not about the following morning, much less about the fact how they bribed themselves into John cheating on his soon-to-become wife. John would without doubt try to joke about it and put a lid on his feelings. ‘Now that was a story to be told. Groom cheats on bride with the best man and not with a bridesmaid for a change.’-he would say. Sherlock couldn’t even bear the thought of the shame he was to face for the rest of his life. He just wanted to saviour the touch of John’s skin under his fingers as he brushed around in his hair; the scent of him in his nose. He didn’t want what they had to end. Not now, not ever. So in the last stolen hours of undisturbed togetherness all he said, he begged, he pleaded was: “Stay the night.”

And John would, humming into his chest in agreement nuzzling him and breathing him in in deep breaths. He rested his head against Sherlock’s chest in abandon and the detective treaded his hands around him.

They drifted into sleep like that on the couch and only rose the next morning, impossibly early. The flat seemed cold and empty, filled with a silent distance that has crept between the two of them. None of them mentioned anything and John took off without a word, nodding to Sherlock putting on his dressing gown. It all felt eerily final, it physically hurt him.

Sherlock watched him leave the house from his window sunken in thoughts. He picked out his violin and began practising once again the waltz he had written for John. The notes were shaky and off, though they sounded so good a day ago. His movements weren’t as fluent as he’d have liked them to be. He realised, he didn’t want to play it at all. Not for John and Mary. He was too angry and frustrated and vented it all out in a wave of angry tunes he made with erratic strokes.

There was a soft knocking at the door when Mrs Hudson came up to see after him in worry. She did that whenever he screeched around with his violin.

„Sherlock, dear, are you all right?” – She asked coming in after having heard no obvious reply. – „I saw John leave just now. I hope you boys had a good night, just like the old days-„ She stopped abruptly when she saw the look in his eyes.

Sherlock strolled over and collapsed into a hug on Mrs Hudson. She let out a shocked gasp, but then softly petted his head.

„There, there. You told him, didn’t you? Poor thing.” – She dotted calmingly. – „He likes you back, you know, even if he turned you down. You wouldn’t imagine how he was while you were gone…It is just, he loves Mary more.”

He didn’t want to correct her that what John did was far worse and damaging for both of them than simply turning him down. The feelings still burned in his chest and he couldn’t bear to think about it all, his now sober mind attempting to process the last night. He parted from Mrs Hudson and went over to store his violin in its case.

„Listen love, I’ll make you a hot cuppa. That’ll cheer you up a bit.”

„Thank you, it would be lovely.”

„You can tell me about it, if it makes it easier for you.”

He sighed. „I was thinking about leaving in an hour or so. There are still things I need to see arranged at the wedding.”

She stared at him giving him a searching look and Sherlock shot back a tight smile.

„Very well, dear. Do as you see fit. I’ll meet you there.” – She shut the door behind herself.

Sherlock stood there for a while submerged in his mind before mobilising again. He was John Watson’s best man and there was a wedding today that needed to be run flawlessly.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my rather bad attempt at making the unmeasurably disappointing stag-night scene better. Sorry for the not so happy ending, but if you read my other fics, you'll know that I'm drama all over.  
> I am still in need of betas and Britpics, anyone offering would be very much appreciated.


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